Gone
by Pon Pon Pocky
Summary: Shepard returns home to a silent, empty house after Garrus passes on. Shakarian.


The door slid closed on a silent home at the edge of the beach, far from prying eyes. Shepard didn't bother calling out, despite it being her first instinct. Though it seemed like it had been just a few days before, she knew it was empty rather than inhabited. No rumble of excited Varren, Urz the Second and Bean had passed away years ago. No sound of laughing children of all different species and personalities, they had all grown and were off in their own homes, with their own families.

And now…

And now, no Garrus.

Numbly, Shepard went through the motions, pulling off her boots and massaging her aching, mostly-cybernetic knee before hobbling into the kitchen for a drink. She only paused when, after grabbing a beer for herself, she'd opened the dextro side of the fridge to get a similar drink of a different chirality.

She stood, staring into the fully-stocked shelves, unable to really feel the cold that was wafting over her skin. When her body gave an involuntary shudder, she realized she'd been standing there for about five minutes, and she closed the door, making a mental note to clear out any of the food that could go bad anytime soon. The rest, the non-perishables, could stay for when the dextro kids, grandkids, and great grandkids came to visit.

She sat out in her chair on the deck, staring out into the waves of the ocean not far from their home, ignoring the empty seat beside her.

She opened up her beer and sat, drinking in silence while the dual suns of the tropical planet they'd settled on slowly began to sink in the sky.

Neither of them had anticipated that Garrus would be the first to go. Even if it was unspoken, Shepard had been the one expected to pass earlier. Her injuries when they'd found her after the Reapers had been destroyed had been extensive and, frankly, it was a miracle that she'd survived at all. But, as usual, Shepard had made her own damned miracles and pulled through. She'd been out about half a year. Garrus had been there at her side when she'd woken up.

He hadn't been there the whole time, though. Or even for very long. The Normandy had ended up stranded on some backwater planet after the blast. They had only returned maybe a week before she'd come out of her coma. Whether it was just great timing or a slip of fate, Shepard didn't know and didn't care. It had brought her crew, her friends back to her before she could even have thought they were gone, and it had brought Garrus back too.

They'd had a good life, after she'd recovered as much as she could. Chosen a nice, out of the way place they could call home and raise a family in. All of their children had been adopted, as the Turian-Human baby plan hadn't panned out (not for lack of trying, of course), but they had been _their _children, their sons and daughters that Shepard was still so very proud of. And Garrus had been too. He'd been a bit overprotective as well, a trait Shepard had found infinitely amusing. After each left home, he'd fret constantly over their safety, and vid calls had been a test of patience whenever he asked if they were eating well, and did they remember to lock their door, and _was that a male's shirt on your dresser, young lady?_

She had to smile at the memories. They were good ones, the ones that gave her that warm feeling in her chest, the ones that, when she was remembering those that had sacrificed their lives for the cause, oh so many years ago now, she could only thank the fallen for.

The house had been quiet after the chicks had fled the nest. Garrus and Shepard hadn't minded. They'd wile away the hours having shooting contests on the beach, or just sitting on the deck, trading stories that they'd each heard hundreds of times before, but still enjoyed hearing.

Shepard's smile faded, and she stared at the empty bottle in her hand, her thumb rubbing along the smooth surface. When she stood, it was quite sudden, and she tossed the bottle away. It landed perfectly in a recyclable bin near the back door.

She found herself at the bedroom door before she knew where she was going. She'd been avoiding the very thought of it since she'd returned. Now that she was here, though, there was no turning back.

Shepard didn't hesitate to open the door…and she was greeted, once again, by silence.

And a made-up bed where once two had slept, but now…only one.

She didn't notice her shaky steps as she entered the room. Her feet led her to the closet, which she opened. His clothes were still there, neatly folded and arranged. She grabbed one of his more casual tunics and brought it to her nose. Even though they had the smell of clean laundry, his scent also lingered on the fabric. She clutched it to her chest and stumbled to his side of the bed.

And then, for the first time in many, many years, Shepard broke.

Her sobs were near silent, as if the quiet that suffocated the empty house muffled the sound.

He was gone. Garrus, her Turian, the love of her life, father of her children, her best friend, was gone for good.

She would no longer hear that flanging laughter as he teased her about being a bad shot. No longer feel the warm plates against her back when she woke in the morning, even as they got softer and softer as he aged. No longer receive those heated glances, heavy with the promise of a long, exhausting night of love making later on. No longer feel the pressure of his forehead on hers in a gesture that had come to be a silent 'I love you' with ten times the meaning.

She felt his loss like the loss of a limb. There was this constant reminder that he wasn't there anymore, watching her six while she watched his. It was a gaping wound that she knew would never heal.

It had been a quiet, painless death. If anything, she was glad for that. They'd been laying in bed, remembering their first night, before the Omega Relay, when she'd last spoken to him. They'd fallen asleep sometime in the middle of the story. Shepard had woken up the next morning.

Garrus hadn't.

The funeral had been small…only her, their family, and their remaining friends. Tali had cried the whole time, as had Liara, though the Asari had been quieter. The Shadow Broker had kept the information of Garrus' death quiet so that they would all be given proper time to mourn. It would be released to others later on, when the others felt that it was time for the rest of the universe to know that one of their heroes had passed.

Despite her oldest son insisting that he accompany her back home, just for a short while, she'd much more firmly insisted that she would be fine, and that she needed some time on her own. As just about anybody who'd worked with her would say, nobody could deter Commander Shepard when she set her mind to something, not even her children.

Hours later, when night had descended and Shepard's eyes had long since adjusted to the inky blackness of the bedroom, she lay on the bed, covers mussed from her weight and tear stains covering the pillow, his tunic clutched against her like a lifeline. Her tears had long since stopped, though it didn't help the pain that still throbbed inside her chest. But there was no cure for that, and she'd carry it until the day she joined him.

Her eyes closed and she nuzzled the tunic's fabric. "Save me a seat, Garrus…I'll try not to be too long…"


End file.
